The wind was wrong.
It carried something thick, something rotten, something unnatural.
Opal felt it before she heard the howl.
A deep, mournful sound cutting through the night—one that sent a chill racing down her spine. A distress call.
She was already running.
By the time she and her brothers reached the western border, a crowd had gathered.
And at the center of it—
The body.
Opal skidded to a stop, her breath catching in her throat.
Elric—one of their strongest warriors—lay in a twisted heap.
No.
Not just twisted.
Ruined.
His limbs were wrong, bent at angles that shouldn't have been possible. His spine—curved unnaturally, like something had wrenched it into a shape the body wasn't meant to take.
And his eyes—gods, his eyes.
They were black.
Not dark, not lifeless—black like an abyss. Like someone had scooped out his soul and left only emptiness behind.
Opal's stomach lurched.
"No…" Her voice came out barely a whisper.
The world felt smaller.
